It was 2006
There I was
Eyes closed
Hands raised in worship
In a Mega Church in suburban Detroit
Tears welling in my eyes
Letting it all go
Feeling something other than what the other sixteen waking hours of the day typically beheld
Which were; cycles of obsessive negative thinking
Overwhelming feelings of doom and dread
Flanked by guilt and shame
Most of the time it felt like an enormous, wet blanket was draped over my head
I’d grab fistfuls of it
Pulling it upward
Bunching it in my arms
Only to be overwhelmed by its infiniteness
Other times
It was like there was a diffusion filter covering the lens of each of my thoughts
Each one darker than the last
And try as I might, to move the slider to lighten the image
The screen was forever frozen
I leaned into different schools of thought
Perhaps in healing the body, the mind will follow?
Perhaps I can physically chase away the demons by running?
Perhaps it’s as simple as replacing the negative thoughts with positive ones?
Perhaps I need to surrender to GOD and let him guide me out of the darkness
Perhaps
Perhaps
Perhaps
I’ve never been suicidal
But I’d be lying if I said that there weren’t times when I’ve felt
Indifferent to death
Not much of a care either way
The way I saw it, I was a dysfunctional version of a person with a head full of awful thoughts
I had a hardware issue, most likely, unfixable
What good am I to this team, anyhow?
I’d spend hours roaming the aisles of health food stores
Studying products
Buying supplements and vitamins and snake oil
Praying for even a glimpse of a placebo effect
I rummaged through the Psychology and Self-Help aisles of local bookstores
Researching
Desperately combing for strands of hope in texts
Accounts of others like me
Who’d found a way
Who’d persevered
Who’d SURVIVED it
I found a book called “White Bears and Other Unwanted Thoughts” by Daniel Wegner, a Harvard Psychology professor, which was Based on Ironic Process Theory, also know as Ironic Rebound or “The White Bear Problem”
“Try to pose for yourself this task: not to think of a polar bear, and you will see that the cursed thing will come to mind every minute.”— Fyodor Dostoevsky, Winter Notes on Summer Impressions, 1863”
This book both enlightened and terrified me
Because THIS WAS ME
This is what happens
Like an autoimmune disease
My brain is constantly attacking persistent negative and terrifying thoughts
Trying to suppress them
But the more my brain attacks, the more frequent the thoughts appear
And the stronger they become
And so the battle RAGES ON
And on
And on
And on
Incessantly
Becoming a fixture in my brain
Like that dated sconce in the hallway from the 90’s that no one likes
There was comfort in knowing that this was “a thing” that people struggle with
And it wasn’t just me
And I wasn’t going crazy (yet)
And Maybe
Just maybe
There is a way to retrain my brain and put an end to this madness
But there was one massive flaw in my plan to understand who the enemy was and fight back
And that was…
I was GOING IT ALONE.
I WAS LOST.
But LOST wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling
In fact, it was all-too familiar
It was a feeling that has been a part of me as long as I can remember
Impressively reinventing itself throughout the years
Like an aging artist, in an attempt to remain relevant
As long as I can remember, I’ve had an unhealthy fear of the world.
Curious to the point of madness
Terrified by things I had no power over
I was the kid staring out the window at the summer storm
Unable to focus
As the ominous clouds move in
Shades of grey and black
Carrying thunder and rain
Fully convinced that this is the part where I die.
In this prison
With a teacher I don’t trust and a bunch of other kids I hardly know
Because whatever THAT is
OUT THERE
Is so much larger than any of us can ever imagine
And should it choose to?
It might have its way with all of us
Point being…this place is terrifying
That fear waxed and waned throughout my childhood
Becoming manageable, almost nonexistent for a handful of years
Years when I was doing what I most loved, which was playing BASEBALL
My Dad had spent countless hours with me
Honing my craft as a pitcher
It became my life…my obsession
I had never felt more confident than when I was on that mound
I wanted the BIG games, the BIG hitters, that final out
I ran toward those moments
Ones brimming with risk and pressure
Because I had learned a skill, and that skill had become second nature
Like tying a shoe or riding a bike
Throwing strikes became natural
The motion
The feel of the stitches on my fingers
The feel of the dirt under my cleats
The feel of the moments inbetween
All of it
Complete composure
When I think about it now it’s nearly impossible to believe that there ever was a time when I would have run towards a stressful situation with an unbridled confidence that I would succeed
But of course…that didn’t last
I can’t drive a nail into a certain date when the switch was flipped
But when I was thirteen I had what would be my first experience of a panic attack
In public, while reading passages at the altar as part of my church confirmation
I’d never felt such helplessness in my life
My face ran red with embarrassment
It felt like someone was dropping hot coals down the back of my shirt
I was sweating profusely
Trembling
Hyperventilating
Reading, but not comprehending
Quivering the words into the room as the faces of the congregation looked on with pity
Where was God for this one?
That was all I could think.
Stuck in the irony of it all
And from that day on, this new manifestation of my ANXIETY has squatted, like a deadbeat tenant in its free studio apartment in my brain
Feeding
And Growing
Ever-more powerful
Fueled by all of the awkwardness and forced social interactions of the teen school years
I went from being the kid who proudly participated in class to the kid who was terrified of being called on
Any semblance of attention in a group setting meant my face was going to flush, fire truck red with the heat of a ghost pepper
And so I began acting out
Class clown kind of stuff, but it was all an offensive front, because I thought if I could receive attention on MY terms and get a laugh, then maybe I wouldn’t be seen as “the kid who gets awkwardly red and weird any time any one looks at him.”
I took to wearing shirts in layers, as to hide the sweat that pooled under my arms
I DREADED school
Often, I tried faking sick so I could stay home and even went so far as to try making myself sick at times
I became an actor
Self-taught
Never to be seen on stage in an organized production
But to be seen everywhere, by everyone, in the day-to-day
I was playing the part of SEAN (15-18 yrs, confident, bold)
The guy who’s got his s**t together
When in reality I was SEAN (15-18 yrs, anxiety-ridden, hates school)
But if you ask any man of any generation, all I was doing was simply “Sucking it up…and BEING A MAN”
It was exhausting
At 18, my Dad was on a ship in the middle of the ocean, fighting in a war…and here I was, praying that I wouldn’t be called on to speak in front of the class
What a (insert inappropriate insult to men which is also offensive to women HERE)
But when it came time for Freshman baseball tryouts I was there
But I’d left my confidence somewhere on one of those trails I used to walk out in the woods, to remind myself of what a quiet mind felt like
I couldn’t throw a pitch to save my life.
Everything had changed
My mechanics
The form
The motion
I thought about each pitch before I threw it
Everything was forced
I had no accuracy
No speed
The coaches were rightfully…unimpressed
I wasn’t the guy they’d heard about
The big, tall, fireball throwing fourteen-year-old who was called up to pitch in tournaments with the Big Boys in senior Babe Ruth
I made the team, but didn’t play much
Did some time in the outfield and a bit at first base
I had no enthusiasm for the sport any longer, because I couldn’t pitch
I hung up the cleats after that ninth grade season
And that was that
The end of my baseball career
I had just assumed that I’d play all through high school and maybe even into college
That was the dream, at least
To this day, I have dreams about pitching
And it comes up quite a bit in therapy
Because quitting baseball was a pivotal marker in my life
I was admitting defeat
This was when I realized how much more powerful my anxiety was than I
Something that I had done so effortlessly for over a decade to this point
Was GONE
Just like that
I couldn’t “fake it to make it” as a pitcher
But still…the show went on
I started playing the drums and joined a band
I played soccer
And somehow I got nominated for Homecoming court, which I’d obtained insider-information regarding (from a friend in student council) prior to the big assembly
For days I carried around a stomach full of rat traps
I talked my two best friends into a plan to sabotage my own nomination at the assembly, in an attempt to spare myself the critical embarrassment, which would come with the attention of having my name called and having to stand in front of the entire school
It was an easy sell…because my friends were up for any/all shenanigans
When my name was called during the assembly, I pulled a nylon skeleton mask over my head
My friends sprung from their seats in the bleachers in Bill Clinton masks, ran to my side, and, as if kidnapping me, rushed me to the stage where I received my award and sat (in my mask) next to my fellow nominees for the entirety of the assembly
The stunt was wildly successful
Not only did we get some laughs and applause, but we didn’t get in trouble and I didn’t have to sit in front of the entire school with a boiled lobster of a face, suppressing a full-blown panic attack
These are the lengths I would go to, to avoid situations
It was that, or skipping school altogether that day
My anxiety has worn different masks over the years
Sometimes its nothing more than a general avoidance of social situations
Sometimes it feels like I’m actually “losing my s**t” and going completely MAD
And Sometimes it shape-shifts into full-blown DEPRESSION
With the obsessive negative thinking
A dampening of feelings and emotions
And, let’s just say…a 50-60% dip in overall quality of life
This is where the water levels rise
And your toes still touch the bottom
But just barely
So you lean your head back
And, you push off, one foot at a time
To keep your mouth above water, just enough so you can breathe
This is where, somehow it feels perpetually like night, even when the sun is blinding your eyes
Around 2006, when my depression was at its worst,
I felt I’d run out of ideas…and options
I pushed aside all of my conflicted thoughts and feelings on religion
And I made a desperate decision to hand over the reigns
I joined a mega church
And threw all of my cards in
I began faithfully attending two services a week
Then I joined the “singles” group
And out of that; a bible study group
I auditioned to play drums for the church band
I began listening to Christian radio
Calling into early morning prayer lines
I filled a trash bag with all of my “BAD” “secular” CD’s and DVD’s and tossed it in the dumpster of my apartment complex
I started wearing t-shirts made by Christian clothing companies with crosses and biblical messages hidden within large, gaudy graphics
I discovered metal bands with a positive message of grace
I quit drinking
I even stopped cussing
I was going to “parties” where people were doing nothing but having “fellowship” over sodas and snacks
I was attending “outings” to play laser tag and ride go-karts
It all felt kind of childish…like middle school, but I just decided that this is how these people do things, and I accepted it for what it was…fellowship
I attended my first “dry” New Year’s Eve party, and oh yeah, I even danced…sober
And in all of this I had found a sense of belonging to something larger than myself
These people I was hanging out with were “Good”, wholesome people on the scale that I had created as a child, which measured everything on a basis of GOOD vs. EVIL
These people leaned ALL THE WAY to the GOOD side
They were empaths
They volunteered in their community
They had fun without alcohol or drugs
They were somehow even immune to gossip
I was reading scripture before bed and talking to God throughout my days
I was CONNECTED
I KNEW HIM
I was in THE CLUB
The one where everyone punches their ticket to Heaven
While all of the others lay their tracks down an endless, spiraling trail to HELL
I had somehow weaseled my way in
…And that’s exactly how it felt
Because I knew I WAS A FRAUD
I had abandoned my friends that had been there for me for decades up to that point
As if I were an addict in treatment, fearing a relapse of “secularism”
Because hanging with THEM meant that I’d be drinking and smoking and searching out shallow, meaningless hookups at bars
Slowly I was becoming Holier Than Thou
I looked down upon the people in my life who didn’t care to know Jesus
I felt sorry for them
Because when the time comes, they’re heading to the basement on the elevator while I’ll be cruising to the penthouse
I knew that this NEW LIFE was doing something for me
But what?
And at what cost?
This took some time for me to understand
Because in my mind…
How could I go wrong by joining a community of “Good” Christian people and building a closer relationship with God?
What was wrong, was that I wasn’t being MYSELF
I was being a version of someone I thought that I was supposed to be since I was a child
Someone who didn’t teeter in that grey area between Sinner and Saint
But who tipped the scale ALL THE WAY to Saint and kept it there
I had formed an opinion at an early age that “Good" didn’t reside in bad people
And that “Good” people didn’t do “Bad” things
It’s embarrassing for me to say, but that was a lesson that I didn’t truly learn until I was grown, with the aid of A LOT of therapy
So, once I began to feel something resembling normal again, I slowly began distancing myself from the church and its community
It felt like I’d just asked God for a loan
He provided the amount I needed
And I took the money and ran back to my heathen life to indulge in sin with my heathen friends
But it was more complicated than that
I was left to reflect on this radical turn I’d taken into this alternate universe
Where I was Sean (27, the wholesome, fun-loving Christian)
A dedicated follower and brother in Christ
When in reality, I was SEAN (27, confused, depressed, desperate)
A reluctant follower in search of something…ANYTHING
Never truly believing that the church is where he is meant to be
This isn’t a jab at organized religion because I’ve seen first-hand, what it does for people
How it enriches their lives and gives them purpose
And it had served a purpose for me as well
That purpose being…a refrain from incessant misery
But it was NOT WHERE I BELONGED
I felt bad about dissolving into the ether, in regards to the friends I’d made at the church
But, in all honesty, I couldn’t think of another way to do it
I had to disappear into thin air, the same way I’d shown up out of thin air
I reconnected with my old friends
I allowed myself to have a drink
I allowed myself to listen to non-Christian music again (THANK GOD)
I allowed myself to cuss again, which is important to me because I LOVE WORDS
Most importantly I allowed myself to be ME again
But a ME who felt a deeper connection to the world and all of the living things around me
I continued my conversations with God…not a Holy Trinity or Jesus or anything that came from a book, but God, just the same
God is in ALL of us
And we ALL live in the grey area
God is in WORDS
Most definitely, in these words
And dare I say…God is in a swear word, spoken in context at the right time and place
But how does this all add up?
Well, it doesn’t
It’s messy, but it’s LIFE
It’s RANDOM
And so is yours
There have been many therapists on this path the past fifteen years or so
Some who were no help at all
Some who scrambled the picture even more than it already was
And some who I would consider HEALERS in my life
There were a couple of “shrinks”, a few counselors and a psychoanalyst before I landed with a therapist who could truly SEE me for who I was
They held differing views, offices, affiliations and credentials
Some…I went to every other week
Some…once a week
And one in particular…THREE TIMES a week
They’ve all played a role in this
They’ve all been educators
Some took notes
Some gave homework
Some crinkled their brows
Some sat silently
And others scribbled on prescription forms and handed them over
So, where does that leave us today…
Well, I’m happy to say that, due to the help of an amazing wife, a supportive family and a wonderful therapist I’m (currently) in a good place.
I’ll never be so naive to think that my Anxiety has finally decided to vacate the apartment
I know that we’ve been cast as a dysfunctional on-screen couple, in which I’ll be forever filing divorce papers, but somehow, I’ll manage.